


Silver Tongues, Sweetened Lips

by Man_Who_Sold_The_World



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 08:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20022019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Man_Who_Sold_The_World/pseuds/Man_Who_Sold_The_World
Summary: Alison Mcree was a maiden, fair in temperament but not overly-so of pallor, with young features, but wise, aged eyes. Altogether she gave the appearance of somewhere her age with just enough cleverness to frustrate the village boys, but not enough to worry the village priest, not outwardly at least. Lucky enough to be born of a mother cut from the same cloth, she was often allowed to wander the vast, dangerous forest that surrounded their home, so long as she promised to be safe and never allow herself to be bested by the creatures who roamed.





	Silver Tongues, Sweetened Lips

**Author's Note:**

> a wonderful request from tumblr user longagoinatardisfarfaraway! what a gem

Alison Mcree was a maiden, fair in temperament but not overly-so of pallor, with young features, but wise, aged eyes. Altogether she gave the appearance of somewhere her age with just enough cleverness to frustrate the village boys, but not enough to worry the village priest, not  _ outwardly  _ at least. Lucky enough to be born of a mother cut from the same cloth, she was often allowed to wander the vast, dangerous forest that surrounded their home, so long as she promised to be safe and never allow herself to be bested by the creatures who roamed.

It was there that Alison found herself, focused as she was with every task she undertook, with weaving her little sister a crown of flowers for her return. Alison’s sister was much too young to wander such a place, certain to be snatched up by the faer folk if she did, but not so young that she couldn’t yearn for the beauty it held. Thus, her older sister always made it a habit of bringing her back magnificent little treasures, sating the young girl’s interest so that she did not wander. 

Alison rarely found herself sated. 

So focused on the crown she wove for her sister, Alison soon found herself trampling a poor small faerie ring. It really was a little thing, hardly bigger than Alison herself, and once she noticed, she couldn’t help but turn back around and try to fix it. It was there, knelt down, sewing stepped-upon mushrooms back together, that she first looked-upon The Goblin King. He stood not three yards back and gazed upon her with a smile that could only be considered wry. Remembering her mother’s advice, Alison finished her task before rising smoothly. She gently put her needle and thread into her pocket ( _ wary of the iron made they are _ ) _ ,  _ dusted off her apron ( _ always watching they must _ ) _ ,  _ and met his gaze surely ( _ gleams in their eye does the mischief _ ).

“It appears as though you’ve  _ partially _ , at least, repaired your damage. They’ll insist I finish the job though.” He leans against the trunk of a tree older than either of them.

“I won’t be offended if you do so,” she assured, knowing he was expecting a word of thanks. She knew not to give him such a thing and watched his eyes. They were entrancing, or at least they could be if she let herself be subject to their uneven beauty. Mischief was glimmering in them yet, and she couldn’t help but smile. He seemed to return the sentiment. 

His eyes trailed down her to the flower crown she held but did not wear. “I can’t imagine a maiden of your age taking interest in such a thing,” he prompts.  _ They’re hungry creatures, feed them not the histories they crave _ .

“And I had supposed that faeries would be more imaginative creatures…” Alison muttered before silencing herself and breaking her lock on his eyes. He chuckled.

“May I have your name?” he asked, offering a hand. Alison glanced back up and took it. Her hand was bare, as it usually was, but his was covered by a strange,  _ dark _ , leather. 

_ Names are powerful things.  _ “You may call me Elizabeth,” she answered, taking her hand back and meeting his gaze once more.

“What brings you to the forest?” he asked as she stepped forward and out of the circle.

“I come seeking adventure, as I usually do...Why have I not seen you here before?”

“You usually aren’t trampling mushrooms,” he remarked, not moving back as she moved forward. “Have you found your adventure?” 

“I think... _ perhaps _ I may have,” she answered lowly, tilting her head up to meet his eye. “Who are you?”

“A maiden of your temperament should already know, need I say so?”

“And what would a king be doing speaking to a commoner?”

“Commoner? I had thought you wove that crown for a purpose,” he mused. She stepped closer, much too close to be considered proper. 

“I will not solve your labyrinth, and I will not wish away my kin,” she stated simply, calm and sure.

“No...but what  _ do _ you wish?” he asked with all the warmth of a frosty night, snug beneath the covers.

“I wish...to feast,” she answered honestly, but hesitantly. His hand tightened around hers as she closed her eyes, his lips nearly against her jaw as he spoke. 

“And is  _ that _ all you  _ wish _ ?” 

She opened her eyes, a low, but hot, fire burning in its place next to a long table piled high with delicacies Alison knew she’d never see once, not even upon her wedding day, for they were much too sweet, and much too expensive. Half of them she couldn’t name and the other half she wasn’t even sure how to eat. She stepped towards the table, carefully considering a small cake from a platter before pausing.  _ Devour not the fruits of their land, or else ye may never return _ . Her mother’s voice always rang in the back of her mind, and it was then that she flinched, hand coming to her side as she took a step back. He stood there, steady and still.

“Is this not what you wished?” he asked, close enough that his breath tickled her ear. She jumped, but remained where she was, eyes scanning over the table. She took a deep breath and cleared her mind, forcing her tensed body to relax as she considered his question. 

After a moment, she turned. Their lips nearly met with their closeness, and his eyes widened in a wry shock. “No,” she answered, simply, laying her hands upon his chest before grasping at the ruffles of his shirt. She pulled him closer, their bodies clashing against one another as she pressed her lips to his. She was greedy at first, greedy as a starved man would be upon the table she so gladly ignored, before softly, her grip upon his shirt lessened, and she pulled back to find him looking upon her incredulously. He took a breath, swallowing and looking down upon her with a bemusement that she was certain was meant to mask his shock. He cupped her cheek, stroking its high point with his thumb before kissing her once more. 

A loveseat that she could be sure wasn’t there a moment before appears just in time for her to back him into it. She releases him fully as she pushes him into it, and he whimpers at the loss. He rests his head against the seat’s back, neck exposed as she straddles his spread legs, skirt snagging as she does. He grasps at her ankles, peering up to her, grin exposing sharp teeth. She reaches for one of his hands, guiding it further up her calf until he’s lifting her skirts. They’re heavy: layered, thick, sturdy fabric, meant to protect her from the elements rather than from immodesty, but she would soon be victim to both and neither all at once. He pushed her skirts up at her own insistence, and thus she took it upon herself to rid him of his blouse. His skin was tough, different from that of the village boys. Thick, but smooth, nearly scaled, and not dissimilar to the underbelly of a snake in its texture. Alison suspected that under different circumstances, it would have been just as cool. But, as it was, the fae’s skin was burning nearly as hot as her own under the layers of skirts. His once-perfect hair was more than astray, and the more disheveled he became at her hand, the more she wanted to continue. He found himself in no position to refuse her, and would not regardless, for as much as he knew she denied him of, she had still caught his interest. 

Alison’s attempts at pushing his blouse off his shoulders were quickly slowed to a halt as the fae’s fingers began teasing at her folds, exploring her further as her breath hitches. A soft  _ bastard  _ escapes her lips as his part in a smug grin. His sharp teeth expose themselves, a warning, no--  _ a promise _ . She locks eyes with him, the smugness of his lips disappearing as her mouth crashes into his. He pauses in his ministrations, surprised as she nips at his lip, but doubles his efforts below as she does. Alison, ever emboldened by the creature's actions, laces her fingers through his fine golden hair and pulls him closer, grinding into his hand for a brief moment before the pair tumble to the ground, having lost their leverage in the midst of their encounter. 

The fae’s eyes darken, in a manner much too literal to be anything but a warning, and before Alison could groan in pain from the fall, she finds herself breathless as he disappears beneath the skirts he had so carefully worked up her legs before. Alison sits up on her elbows for a moment before a hand reaches up, pressing lightly against her heaving chest until she lays back down. The maiden relaxes her head against the stone of the floor, becoming increasingly aware of the fae’s teeth as he trails them up her thighs. Alison, curious as ever, reaches towards him, entwining her fingers in his soft hair once more. She tugs lightly at it, eliciting a grunt from the creature who cannot help but stop for a moment to gaze upon her. His eyes have long since gone black, and his sharpened teeth glisten with her own wetness, but Alison’s heart cannot help but leap for a moment as he offers a clawed hand, cupping her chin and kissing her softly, much too soft for a moment such as this, before pulling away once more to continue his work. 

Alison grips at his wild locks much more harshly than she intends to, legs tensing as she presses herself against him. The fae purrs much too deeply to be in any amount of pain he doesn’t enjoy, and continues his motions as the maiden hitches in breath. His tongue, slick and silver as ever, winds itself over her nub as his fingers work inside her once more, suspiciously absent of the clawed nails that had so thrilled her before. He clenches then, grinning against her as she tenses, and waits a moment before doing so again, earning a deep, repressed groan. He repeats the action, lips lapping at her nub as he continues, the maiden pulling the fae against her harshly for a moment before her release surfaces. Her entirety tenses, scalp scratching against the stone floor, before she relaxes. 

She felt like her flesh has been replaced with jelly, and perhaps it had with how thoroughly filled with sweetness she had imagined herself to be, but still she reached towards him. The fae purred in earnest as she ran her fingers through his hair, beckoning him to meet her once more. The light pressure of the disheveled creature resting upon her was comforting, as was the soft kiss he offered her before retreating but an inch to observe her. Alison could not help but smile tiredly, the fae’s eyes having lightened. 

“ _ Stay, _ ” he offers.

“ _ I cannot, _ ” she replies honestly, the creature pouting in earnest before reaching above her and taking a piece of fruit from the bountiful table. He offers it to her, a peach-- out of season. “I  ** _will not,_ ** ” she clarifies, remembering her mother’s warning. 

“They are even sweeter here than they ever will be in your world,” he warns, leaning back, straddling her. 

“Unnaturally so,” she huffs, watching him as his eyes darken just a touch. Or,  _ perhaps _ , the room had.

“I never much fancied how your kind defined what lies within  _ natural _ .  **Everything ** used to be, you know,” he tsks, biting into the peach. The juices trail down his chin, the flesh caught within his teeth, the fruit caught within his claws. Alison watched his performance for a moment before sighing.

“You cannot tempt me with a fate I do not desire, I have a family--”

“Yes, your  _ sister _ … If you will not stay, if I cannot  _ tempt  _ you to do so, will you allow me one thing?” he asks wryly. 

“And what could that be?” Alison asks, cheeks still flushing from their activities not a few moments before.

“A  _ kiss _ ,” he reveals, biting into the peach once more.

“A  _ kiss _ ?” Alison asks, dumbfounded by such a simple request. “Why, of course, we’ve already kisse--”

His lips crash against hers, the sweetness of the peach heightening the sensation she had become so accustomed to. He hadn’t lied, even what little remnants of the fruit made it to her tongue were sweeter than any dessert Alison had managed to taste. Something else lingered there too, it was like nectar--yes, but also, oddly enough, metallic. It was then that Alison realised that perhaps the fae wasn’t lying to her, that perhaps the false sweetness of the peach did not taste unnatural to a creature composed of such falseness. He pulls back, a soft gasp escaping the maiden.

“ _ Stay _ ,” he pleads.

“I cannot,” she replies honestly. The fae’s eyes betray a sadness that only a lonely creature of his age could know, and for a moment Alison almost considers his plea. Before she can, though, he kisses her forehead softly. The sweetness of the peach still stains her lips, nearly sticking them together, but he rises from his position atop her and offers a hand, setting the fruit upon the now barren table. She takes it, the fae helping her rise. Before he can speak, she kisses him softly, pulling his blouse back upon his shoulders. He smiles, genuine in his own melancholy, and when her eyes break from his, she stands alone in the forest. The sun has begun its descent, and her sister’s crown lies upon the ground, much more lively than any picked flowers have any right being after hours drying in the sun. Alison takes it, placing it upon her own head as she treads back home, eyes following her, but never close. 


End file.
